My Brother, the Traitor
by vieralynn
Summary: A story of disagreement, love, and identity. Noah, Basch, Solidors, OFCs, OMCs. Landis, 686-687 O.V.
1. Together

_**A/N: My Brother, the Traitor**__ is a novella for "the_sandsea," an LJ 100 prompt community for FFXII. This story will contain 36 chapters (36 prompts) that tell a tale about Noah & Basch in Landis. The first chapter is a reflective prologue; the rest takes place in Landis when the twins are 17.  
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_I'll update this semi-regularly, in better updating other multi-chapter fiction and some of my series of interconnected one shots. (Because this story plus two stories following it are for a 100-prompt community, the chapters will probably be a little shorter than what I would normally post as an individual chapter)._

_Reviews are *always* welcome. Enjoy! ^^_

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**Chapter One: Together**

Same height, strong legs, sturdy hands, squared nails, freckles splattered across our cheeks, the same clouded hazel eyes. Until my brother dared to grow out his hair, copying the style of Archadian nobility, we could pass for one another. We often did.

In those days when we were young, he was not just another brother. He was my twin, my self, mirrored beside me. Our bones clothed in identical flesh, the same blood coursing through our veins, he and I were born to uphold our family's honor until those duties passed to the next generation. That was how our lives were supposed to be, but not how it happened.

For our first seven years of our lives, he and I were always together. Every adventure, every illness, every memory shared. Even as we grew older, I kept close watch on all he did, for I was my brother's conscience, just as he was my courage. I kept him out of trouble, well away from the stinging slap of our young governess's hand. I saw that he never ran too far afield, tumbling into hollows where malboro bred a horrid stench. And I made sure he never acted too recklessly, especially when I knew my ways were better in the end.

People thought us inseparable. Our grandfather did. One day he arranged for us to share inheritance of our manor and the manor's land. Ronsenburg would pass as one into our hands without cleaving us in two. We should have all remained together, right until the end, but my brother's behavior became too obstinate.

The older we grew, the harder it was for me to right his errors in judgment. He was insistent, forging his own way without thought for others. When I questioned him, he excused his actions as 'his duty.'

'Doing as he must,' he would say. 'Doing as he must do in the name of our manor, our forefathers, and our people.'

One day it became clear that he and I traveled separate paths. And with that thought, two of my limbs were rent from me, and one of my eyes, half of my heart. I was rendered powerless, unable to catch him, to rein him in. I could not quell the wildfires his actions set. The western provinces burned and fell into ruin.

Forehead pressed to my knees, arms wrapped around my head, I sat, I rocked, I cried in my sister's bower. I could not bring my brother back. He roamed beyond the pale of decency, running with Mist-drunk marauders, rebels, and ungrateful sons of lords. Now, looking back, I know that the fault lay partly in our own youth. But then, I thought only of our coming defeat. There was nothing left for me to do except invoke Landis's law, and even in that I failed. My love for my brother was stronger than my wish to see him punished. But that was before he went too far, before I wished to see him dead.

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For the many years that followed, I refused to look at my face when reflected in a mirror. I hid my hands inside heavy gauntlets and covered my body with armored plates. I became a licensed lawspeaker, just as my grandfather had hoped, but not a lawman for the western provinces. Instead, an Archadian judge and, in time, I sought promotion to the rank of judge magister. Once again I kept close watch on all my brother did, but this time I waited for him to run too far, cause too much trouble, to stray his bounds and provide reason for me to bring him to justice. There were times when I watched him with the eyes of a hawk, when I sent my informants to walk by his side, even though he lived in another nation.

When I rose to head of intelligence, I could do these things without impunity but my foremost duty was to my emperor, Lord Gramis. He relied chiefly on me for his family's security and for information that affected his governance. There came a time when the emperor's eventual transfer of power needed to be planned and, for that, I handled investigations so secret only he and I knew the findings. That was a time when I hardly kept official record of my activities: of whom I spied on, of what documents I read, which places I went, what payments I tracked. And it was a time when I became the emperor's most trusted servant. He was always kind to me. I do not regret my loyalty even though he set me as a chess piece between his two younger sons.

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There is a day from that period of my life that remains vivid in my mind. Just before noon I was on my way out of the palace, to lower Archades, to meet Ba'Gamnan. Emperor Gramis's manservant caught me before I left. 'Our Lord Emperor summons you to his private chambers,' he said. Without delay, I followed Gramis's manservant through the upper halls of the palace, up to the rooftop gardens where the imperial family kept their private apartments. Gramis's manservant knocked once upon our lord's door to announce my arrival and then he asked me to wait until the emperor was ready to receive me. Then, the man left, and I knew that Gramis's words would be for my ears only, else he would have summoned me to his grand office, below.

As I waited, I stood alone in the long, shaded gallery, my back to the sunlit courtyard and the peaceful reflecting pool. The wall before me was lined with rows of portraits, and the eyes of many generations of Solidors stared back at me. I let my gaze skip from painting to painting, from men with noble noses and chiseled faces, to women dressed in silks, standing in shadow, stately yet demure. To the left of Gramis's door hung a painting that caught my attention. It was a portrait of Gramis's eldest two sons, now gone. They stood together beneath a tree, two great hunting hounds at their feet. The brothers looked as if they were enjoying a holiday outing.

When Miklas and Phlorian had lived, they were almost as close in age as a pair of twins. Even today one can hear stories that recall their vicious rivalries. Such tales are often told over pints of ale, yet I never wished to hear these accounts.

I had seen firsthand the hideous aftermath of their competition. Whatever political lessons Gramis had wished his eldest to learn, those two brothers used Valendia's outer provinces as playthings in their games of war. It is true that controversy shrouded the trials for their war crimes. Yet, I still feel their executions were fully justified. This matter, understandably, was a delicate subject around Emperor Gramis. Thus, I tried never to think of it while in his service.

Yet, on that day, as I stood there, studying the portrait, the painting before me did not depict two cruel, brutal savages. Instead, it was an image of two young men enjoying a pleasant day in the country. They were both dressed in sporting clothes, as if returning from an organized hunt. A banquet of food was set beside them and one of the brothers, Phlorian, held an apple in his hand. Behind the tree that shaded their heads, a lush meadow of wildflowers under a pale blue sky, dotted with cottony clouds. It was a family portrayal, two brothers enjoying a pleasant summer's day.

The painter, no doubt, was talented, and the manner in which he captured the young men's faces drew me in. I realized then that I saw something in their expressions that made me think of my own brother and myself. I leaned closer to study how the artist rendered the gleam in one brother's eyes and the knowing smirk on the other's face. The frames of their bodies were still lanky, young men in their late teenage years.

The more I looked at their faces, both so similar, I could hardly tell Miklas from Phlorian. And then I was struck by a disturbing thought: their names no longer raised bile to the back of my throat. I knew that was wrong. Even today, mention of these two sons spike the tempers of most common men, older women come close to tears, and then a long silence descends. Instead, as I looked at the painting, I thought that if these sons had been towheaded rather than raven haired, this could be my brother and me looking out from the canvas. That was when my hands began shake, my pulse started to pound, my neck broke into a prickly sweat. I wished rip their forms from the portrait and bring the Solidor's two eldest back to life. I wanted to shout at their limp bodies, cursing them for their sins, until they wept their confessions at my feet.

I knew then that I had to step away from the portrait, out of the gallery, out into the sun. As I looked out over Archades' skyline, I asked myself which loss was more acceptable: the deaths of a hundred thousand countrymen or that I had been deprived of the future I had wanted?

I wished then that I could ask my brother the same question.


	2. Apart

_Although I meant to update "Surveyors: Invisible Sun" before updating this, this chapter insisted on writing itself much faster. _

_Reviews are *always* welcome. Enjoy! ^^_

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**Chapter Two: Apart**

In the blood dark pool where I first swam, a tadpole, a limbed fish, a little newt. From the start I was never alone. Had I been like others, I would have curled into a ball, tethered to my home, king of my womb warm castle, ruled by me and me alone. Instead, I indiscriminately sucked on stubby fingers, either mine or my brothers. Naked, growing daily, our bodies weighed on she who housed us. We tumbled, turned, kicked and fell, arms around my neck, head against his chest, until one day our foundations shook us loose. There was battle, a flood, and for what seemed an eternity, I was lost. For the first time in our lives, we were apart. The press of the earth's flesh crushed my body, threatening to condemn me in obscurity within a lonely, dark tomb. But before I thought myself dead, I heard a cry: an echo of how I would sound if I could speak. I dug and I pushed until I was free. Stabbed with a savage chill, I responded in rage as a furious shock of air erupted from me.

I had a voice of my own.

An army of nurses captured me and scrubbed away the torn remains of my once warm house. Anger writ red on my skin, I screamed how horribly I'd been wronged. Then came a white-haired monster wielding a blade. A brutal cut struck the cord from my navel and I learned the smell of blood rusting in the open air. With that thought, I howled and howled, inconsolable, terrified, and alone in the hands of others.

Someone finally had the good sense to swaddle me tightly against the warmth of my silent brother. Our little fingers curled together, in exhaustion, we slept.

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Sometime after my first dream, I heard hushed whispers. 'Both are plump, both are hale.' Another hissed her edict: 'no decision, no blessing, no name, nothing at all, until Lord Ronsenburg returns.' Not for two fortnights would he come. Before the sun set, one of those whispering women left a murderous mark on my wrist: a thin white cord, tied with a stubborn knot. My brother looped his fingers through the cord, tender flesh pressed against my skin. He yawned in my ear, unaware I wore their noose.

A wet nurse scurried forward while our mother slept. She reached for my slumbering brother but it was I who stretched my mouth as wide as the world would allow me, ready to suck warm milk for the first time. My brother sighed in his sleep and the nurse tried to refuse me, but my lips reached for flesh and clamped as hard as I could. I drank furiously. The death crone in the doorway cursed the young woman as I fed.

That moment recast my fate. All those who witnessed that event knew I had come into this world knowing how to speak the law. Chapter seven, verse fifteen: 'any babe who sucks milk from a wet teat shall be fed and raised, no matter the hardship.' I thought this a fair judgment because I had already assessed my family's wealth based on my surroundings. It seemed wrong to refuse me when a half-dozen ladies attended our birth.

After I had drunk my fill, my stomach fattened with knowledge, my brother's lips puckered once and then opened while the rest of his body remained cozy and still. He knew he needn't strive as I must, and he sucked slowly while I settled beside him. When that foolish crone thought to separate us, my brother wrapped an arm around me and pressed his ear to the beating pulse within my chest. He would have nothing of her meddling.

Days passed as a group of wet nurses took turns sating our bellies. These ladies cared for our needs, bathing us, singing, rocking our cradle, bouncing us on their knees. During those months, my mother always stood from afar, silently watching over those who provided our care. Her little cough issued commands so she need not dirty herself with the matters of infant children. I knew then that she was of the Gabranth clan, a ruling family of silk-wrapped merchants from the high steppe in northern Archadia, but with the change in climate and mist, the Gabranth clan dispersed. Some married into landed families from Landis, others grasped the gilded rungs of upper Archades. Mother wore her dignity as a sable cloak and her platinum hair piled in coils atop her head. She was a willowy beauty, delicate and cold. I wanted her, wanted to call out to her, but her sharp gaze silenced me. I began to fear what would happen if I cried out.

During those weeks, she never took me in her arms. My contentment came when I was cuddled at the breasts of our nurses. I looked at my mother with hunger and she gazed back at me, serene yet never smiling. She would touch my brother's downy hair as he clung to me, sucking my thumb. I sensed my mother's disappointment. Our lord father could have only one heir, only one impartial ruler of the manor and the manor's lands.

I knew the difficulties faced by two boys who wished to fill a single man's shoes. Had we been born into a different house under a roof to the east, the stars in my fate might have remained fixed, leaving us without further choice in the matter. That was not the case, for when I was nine weeks of age my father's Landisi sentimentality overrode the women's chatter of Archadian tradition. He blessed me with a kiss on my forehead and the very same name as his own. 'Noah, you will be called, for you will bring peace to this house.' But he blessed my brother Basch first, 'Basch, because you will be revered.' For the rest of that day, I slept in peace as I was passed from arm to arm, held by all of my family before I was returned to my brother's cradle.

From that day forward, I thought of my father and I as having the same mind. We had both assessed that Ronsenburg had grown so large it needed two men to share the duties of a manor lord. Tenants held eighty leases on our land and all their disputes needed someone to settle them. Their children needed legal oversight for their betrothals, they and their grandparents required updates to their wills. There was the issuance of licenses, the collection of taxes, and the annual moneys spent for upkeep of the land. That alone was more work than a single man could handle, and the manor lord also led hunts and managed the road watch.

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After my brother and I turned twelve, we knelt in the village square where all the people could see us. My father presented us with newly forged swords. Together, we each made a cut across the palm of our hand and let blood drip to the earth, marking us as men. I ignored my mother's ladies who whispered their superstitions about the bad fate of firstborn twins.

That autumn, my father promised to take us on our first hunt when the chill in the air drove malboro down from the mountains. We needed many hunters that year. Young farmers and villagers signed up in lieu of paying extra milling tax on rye flour. My brother and I had studied the sword since we were seven, but now were licensed to carry sharpened steel. We ran through the great hall in our manor, swinging, charging, and dodging. I jumped on top of tables and skipped along the edges of stools before they toppled. I shouted for Basch to come and get me while he stalked in the shadows of pillars. He waited until I fell off balance. In an instant, his blade swung for my arm, yet he stayed his sword inches away from my boiled leather. I fell backwards onto stone tiles and the air was knocked from me. I felt for blood on the back of my head and found none. Sprawled on the floor, I let loose a wicked laugh that echoed high in the rafters. I answered the echo with wild whoops and shouts.

One of my mother's ladies cursed me for all the noise we had made: 'If Noah continues to yell as he does, he will find his tongue will fail him.' She cast a malevolent eye at me.

The next morning, when I woke, I found that I could not speak. My throat swollen and lungs banded, I remained beneath my blankets, gasping until our nurse came. My body was fitful with anger. I knew would not learn how to lead a hunt. Basch stayed by my side until the nurse sent him away. 'Wash your hands first, then your face, then bathe all of your body in soap and hot water,' she called after him. 'We cannot have you fall ill too.'

After bitter potions and restful spells calmed my agitation, our nurse began to stroke my sweat-soaked hair. I no longer minded that I was ill. She did not voice complaint when my fingers played with the rough silk cloth that hugged the curve of her waist. She fed me hot broth while my head remained on my pillow. I gazed up at her face, strong features framed with a soft fringe of hair. She was unlike the ladies who wore their hair long, trailing down their backs, a silken flag that signaled their fertility in exchange for a high seat in wealthy estate. Our nurse kept her hair short and practical for her work. She always spoke her mind with us and her hands were always gentle.

I was glad I could not speak, for I might have said words that would have embarrassed me. Without a thought, I found strength to make room for her on my mattress. Stretched beside her, I was nearly as tall, and although she held me like a mother holds a child, I inhaled the warm scent that rose from her chest. Her nipples were erect beneath her clothing, and I fought against an infantile desire to seek an opening and suck at her breasts.

As I rubbed my cheek against her, I knew I needed a profession. I decided then that I would study law. And while that decision gave me the strength to recover my voice, I found no need to rise from my bed. The hunting party was gone and my nurse tended to no one else but me. She read histories to me, even though I could read for myself. I played with the cloth on the sleeves of her dress, and she whispered news she had heard from a family visiting from the east.

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My brother returned with my father and the hunters after three weeks had passed and the air had turned cold. Basch stunk of malboro even after bathing. He flopped beside me.

"I killed an entire nest of them," he said.

"You reek of it."

"The village, the freeholds, the pastures, and all the way down to the sea will be safe for the winter."

"But only safe from malboro."

"And was that not the point of the hunt?"

"What of all other dangers?" I rolled to my side so I could look at my brother. He had the proud face of a leader even though his cheeks were still rounded with youth, but I knew things that he did not. "There are greater dangers than malboro. Do you want to know what I heard while you were gone."

Even at age twelve, Basch had already adopted a silent nod that signaled he listened intently. I continued.

"There is trouble in the Eastern Province. Tenants have not paid tax to their lords. Taxes were raised by one sack of rye per working tenant. I heard they do not wish to pay because their lords will send the extra tax to Archades"

"Not to the Eastern Province's King?"

"No, King Harvoll is falling out of favor. The houses in the east think him weak. Where the Eastern Province joins with the plains, the Baknamy have staged many raids. The lords think the Baknamy are crossing the Archadian border. Some lords have signed an agreement with Archadia, with House Solidor. They will send the extra tax to support soldiers along the border where Baknamy are known to live."

"Then the tenants and peasants should be glad."

"But they are not! _They_ want to serve as the footman and spearmen, the archers and chemists. Now they cannot offer themselves in lieu of the full annual tax. Instead, they are taxed more and the must give their trust to the Archadians."

"Many of the lords in the Eastern Province are Archadian nobility, sons and daughters of houses in Archades."

"And _that_ is why Landis's tenants do not trust them. Don't you see?"

"We are half Archadian."

"Yes, but we are not from Archades. Our mother is of the high plains and our father is of Landis, his line goes back to the founding of this fort and the port. Those eastern lords may be Archadian, but we are people of Landis, of the red-sand rock. And we mix with our tentants. Never do we lord over them as if they are cattle to be bought and sold and butchered."

"Then, why do you tell me this?"

"I tell you because I will ask our father to arrange for me to study law and manage taxes. Ronsenburg's land has increased, as do the threats to our roads. Hunt seasons grows longer each year -- I have heard our grandfather say this -- and now there is talk about a peasant's revolt to the east. You cannot be expected to lead our hunters and soldiers most of the year and still handle the business of Ronsenburg. Also, our grandfather thinks Ronsenburg should represent our riding, not Hemsaburg. I wish to speak law for all of us when the ridings send their speakers to our king's counsel."

I waited in silence while my brother thought. His focused concentration was a mannerism I would come to know well during the years that followed. Even at age twelve, I knew to still my tongue until my brother was ready to speak.

"You are right. Ronsenburg has grown too large for one lord to handle all of our people's needs. Our father and grandfather split the duties already. They manage their duties well. We will do the same, together."

From that moment on, the matter was settled in my brother's mind but I knew my brother's word held little weight against the law. Still, that winter, my grandfather began my training in the science and rhetoric of legal debate, but I knew if he were to die, I had no right to sign documents or speak for Ronsenburg. Only my father or my brother held that right.

Lawspeaking was the duty of the manors lord, his oldest son, or the manor lord's father. I was not to inherit my family's property, and even if my brother were to die before his time, I would be subjected to a long investigation to assure no trace of my hand was found in such a death. At that time, such ideas were unthinkable to me then and I would have been condemned to eternal horror should such an event occur. Indeed, I loved my brother as if he was an extension of myself.

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For the next five years I studied as my grandfather's apprentice. All that time, I knew someday I must prove myself worthy of him arguing a new law. I could already imagine its text. It would say that a shared inheritance would only be granted to first born identical twins of properties larger than seventy-five tenants. I knew he would need to argue this law to our riding, then to the provincial council, and finally to our king. To aid him, I began to build a case and I documented each of my carefully chosen deeds.

There was one point I always made clear: Basch and I would not weaken Ronsenburg through division. Everyone knew of the ruin in the Southern Province where estates had been subdivided until too small to support a single knight. Only my brother would be required by law to take a landed class wife and produce a suitable heir. I would marry like any other younger son, free to take any wife I pleased, peasant, freeborn, or landed, and my children would be property of the manor, just like any others who were not first-born heirs.

By the time of my seventeenth birthday, I already had my eye on a woman that my grandfather thought a good match. She was Sela of the freeheld Vierland Island, a great fortress of rock, out in the bay. The people of Vierland fished and kept the bay and our port safe from pirates. A marriage to her would tie Vierland to Ronsenburg.

'And, by extension, the bay would be under Ronsenburg's jurisdiction, definitely not Hemsaburg,' my grandfather was quick to point out.

I agreed but my thoughts were far more practical. Sela would make a good companion when I went riding as a lawman. She was as talented with a sword as any man, she stood just a tall, and she, indeed, had trained me in my technique until earlier that year.

On many balmy summer afternoons, she corrected my stance and my swing, her hands moving from my hips to my forearms while she followed behind me. Her training gained me a license as a swordsmaster, and we paid her handsomely for tutoring. I wanted to reward her further and had I become a lawman, I was certain she would accept.

But most of all, I wanted to feel her breasts pressed against my back, her breath warm by my ear. I missed speaking with her and I thought her counsel good. It was true that she was older than my age, but I saw no problem in this. She would work as my companion rather than worry in seclusion over the production of a healthy heir.

During those autumn nights in the weeks before the hunt, after I crawled under my blanket, my hand would slip inside the drawstring of my cotton pants. I inhaled quick gasps beneath a leather glove draped across my nose and mouth. Sela had left it behind, mislaid on a hot summer day. Every night, I always finished quieter, faster than my brother. As he struggled in the dark on the other side of our room, by scent I tried to recall the image of the woman I dearly wanted.

Some nights, just after I heard my brother finish, I would ask him, 'who do you think of?'

'It doesn't matter,' he always grumbled, just before he fell asleep.

The tone of his answer made me worry we were growing apart. Until then, he had never kept secrets from me. I had never hid the name of any woman I thought of and we had always spoken freely in the dark.

Those nights before the hunt filled me with a chill of loneliness even though my brother's snoring should have comforted me. His lack of response to this one simple question made me feel as if I had been silenced. Soon, I started to worry how we would share the manor that he would inherit, the manor I would represent. I fretted over the law that was needed to grant me my title, I was anxious it would never pass. Many nights, long before the sun rose, I could feel the earth shake the stone foundation of my family's house. Alone, my body twisted and turned in sweat-soaked sheets. Some nights, I heard a voice call out my name, but when I tried to answer, I made no sound. I think I feared what would happen if I cried out. Some mornings I found my brother curled beside me. In those brief moments between sleep and wakefulness, I thought I remembered how it felt when we were swaddled together as infants, asleep in the same cradle.


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